Authors: Steven Bannister
“Great,” Terry Burdon managed. “When is it?”
“This weekend! Tomorrow, actually! How about that? I can count on all of you to be there.” Nobody heard an option in there. Arthur looked at Riley and then Britt, where his eyes remained. “I’ll be there,” he said coldly, “you can count on that.” Riley smiled broadly. Britt wasn’t so thrilled.
*****
The Dominion theatre was surrounded by police vans, blue and white tape, arc lights, ambulances and onlookers. Inconvenienced drivers honked horns and gave the ‘finger’ to police. Allie and Rachel showed I.D. to the Scene of Crime officer who told them that they had already established that the victim was a Ms. Paula Armstrong, then led them into the now brightly lit theatre. A white-faced young PC took them over and showed them to the stalls and pointed along row Y. They saw that two people sat side by side, roughly in the middle of the row. Allie and Rachel glanced at each other; nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Rachel led the way as they crabbed along the row to within fifteen feet of the couple when Rachel stopped and backed hard into Allie, bumping her forehead.
“Oh shit, Allie, look at this… Oh, Christ!”
Allie peeped around her, as Rachel wasn’t going any closer for anybody’s money.
Sitting in seats Y23 and 24, respectively, were two halves of the same person. At first glance, the person in Y23 looked perfectly normal—a smartly dressed woman of perhaps mid-thirties. Next to her was a cross-section, viewed from the inside, clearly displaying brain, teeth and internal organs, all neatly halved. She had been split down the middle from cranium to pelvis, perfectly. Both seats were blood-soaked, as was the floor, but the victim’s clothes were unstained and cut neatly in two. It was a science experiment gone wrong—a three-dimensional page from a medical journal.
Allie squeezed around Strauss who was nailed to the spot. She crept within a few feet, the tape around the seats preventing her from moving any closer. She peered at the cutaway side of each half of the corpse. A shiny, jelly-like substance coated both halves of the body from head to crotch and a fine, pale powder coated the hair, the floor and surrounding seats. Allie surmised it was a solidifying agent that had set the remaining blood and was keeping the half-organs locked in place. She thought fleetingly that it might be silicone, but more likely gelatin—lots of it. She vaulted the seats in front of the corpses and walked along the row until she could see them from the other side. It was the same story. Viewed from this angle, the woman’s right side seemed as untouched as her left. Rachel had not moved. Today’s CCTV footage of Georgie’s slaughter and this horror had tripped her fuses.
Allie studied the paradoxical nature of the horror. Could you have such a thing as clinical carnage? But that’s what it was. Cold, deliberate and methodically planned—it had to have been. And all of it executed noiselessly in the back of the theatre
during the show
?Despite her own disgust at the scene, she did not pick up a residual feeling of terror. If she was right, the woman, Paula, had not suffered an agonizing death. It had been relatively quick. The atrocities were perpetrated on her lifeless body. The scene had obviously been designed as another message.
Allie sensed a heavy sadness,
regret
, hanging in the air. She knew at once it was Paula’s emotional pain. Paula was telling her, without words, that she had done something she would not normally do—she had acted on a whim, let her loneliness and broken heart pierce her protective shell—and it had killed her. Paula’s sense of the
injustice
of it all came through in waves as well. “And just when you thought your life was taking a turn for the better,” Allie said, barely aloud. “I’m so sorry, Paula.” She saw Rachel Strauss’s head swivel to look at her. She started towards Allie. Returning her gaze to the split corpse, Allie saw it come into view, as she knew it would. The number three was emblazoned across the bodies and the seats behind.
She waved Rachel away and said she’d see her in the foyer of the theatre. She looked again at the macabre scene as she walked back down row X. Two halves of the same person—it represented duality. It was the same message—good and evil, side by side. The number three was puzzling. Again, it made no immediate sense. Another ‘two’ might have, but not 'three'. She approached the Scene of Crime officer whom she had seen on her arrival. Allie introduced herself to him and addressed him by name. Ken Crowley was surprised she remembered him.
“You attended King’s Lane crime scene last night, did you not?”
“I did indeed, ma’am, with Sergeant Houghton.”
“George not working tonight?” Allie asked, hoping to put the nervous man at ease. In truth, she remembered him because of his enormous, speckled nose.
“Ma’am, George suffered a heart attack earlier today. I’m sorry, but we’ve been advised he passed away.”
Allie spun away from him, her grief immediate and debilitating. She stood with her back to Crowley for a long minute. Her thoughts whirled through her early years as a PC and the kindness George had always shown her, despite the ‘silver spoon’ tag that had bedeviled her from the outset of her career. He had defended her in the squad room and, more than once, on the streets. Guilt swam through her as well; she had not seen enough of him in the past year, evidenced by the fact she had no idea he’d had heart trouble. She marshaled her self-control and turned back to Crowley.
“I’m sorry, PC Crowley. I hadn’t been aware of it. George was a dear colleague and friend.”
Crowley, she was surprised to see, was emotional. “I understand, ma’am. I understand.”
“Do you know when the funeral is?” she asked.
“No, ma’am. Probably in three or four days, I should imagine.” Allie took out her handkerchief and blew her nose. Crowley looked away. She hated blowing her nose in front of people and was glad of his sensitivity to it. It was such a stupid thing, really. She thanked Crowley and said she expected she’d see him at the funeral. Rachel was talking on her phone and turned to her as she approached. From her expression, Allie could tell she had noticed her red-rimmed eyes. She jumped onto the front foot to avoid a grilling from her.
“Let’s find out what we can here and skedaddle. Has any media been sniffing about?”
“None that I’ve seen,” Rachel said.
“Have you got all the details from Crowley, time of discovery, etcetera?”
Strauss said she had, so Allie decided she’d leave for the evening. She was in danger of falling over. Lack of sleep was impairing her thoughts.
“Are you up to looking after things here?”
Rachel bristled. “
Am I up to it?”
Without thinking, Allie put her hand on her shoulder. “Rache, I meant are you not too tired or drained from today, that’s all. You’ve seen a lot and there are others we can call in.” Strauss looked at the ground, as was becoming her habit.
“I’m fine. You don’t have to be concerned on that score.”
Leaving Strauss in charge and with specific instructions about photographing the scene, she stepped out into the sharp night air, pulling the collar of her thin jacket up around her ears. She hoped Michael was around somewhere, as he’d said he would be. She really didn’t want to run into any more of Black Santa’s little helpers. Plus, she’d prefer a ride home, despite having to perch on the back of that big bike and freeze for twenty minutes. She heard his motorbike somewhere in the distance.
*****
Arthur Wendell and his new accomplice waited until the show had finished so they could merge with the babbling crowd exiting the theatre. They walked in a relaxed way, south along Tottenham Court Road. Arthur turned and spoke. “This is as far as we go, partner. I have a meeting to attend.”
The man smiled and extended his hand. They shook firmly—businessmen celebrating a successfully completed project. “How will I find you for the next… mission?” Without hesitation, Arthur handed him his business card. The trust between them now cemented. “Thank you. Do you want my contact details?”
“Not necessary,” Arthur said. "You’ll call soon enough.”
“Correct,” the man said, turning away. Arthur watched him walk towards a large department store. There was something about him, a certain economy with words and a stiffness of bearing. He thought perhaps he was a soldier of some sort. Certainly, he was strong enough.
*****
Allie and Michael got back to her Putney flat at 11:00 p.m. Allie was near exhaustion and said so. Michael nodded. “Ok if I kip in the spare room or would you rather I went elsewhere?" he asked. Allie flapped a weary hand. “The spare room is fine. Just pull the sofa bed out. There’s bedding in the wardrobe. I’ll get it for you.”
“Don’t bother,” said Michael. “I’ll be fine. See you in the morning.”
Allie trudged upstairs to her own bedroom, then back down to the bathroom, then back up. She swan dived into bed and was asleep within seconds.
The water was deathly cold in the cave. She hadn’t wanted to go in, but Robert had sneaked away from the party and she had seen him go. The cake had already been cut and people were talking, so she reckoned she wouldn’t be missed for a while. How he knew there was a cave under the strange hill, she didn’t know. You couldn’t see it from the grassy field. He just parted some pink bushes at the base of the hill by a farmer’s fence and crawled under them. He didn’t know she’d followed him. At first, she’d bridled at the thought of following him into the narrow channel of water, but she reasoned she’d be ok. If he could do it, she could. She was a better swimmer, even though he was fourteen and she was just ten. Besides, it wasn’t really swimming, more like wading.
The bottom was sandy and smooth, not at all like a muddy river. It felt quite nice. The water was clear and a tiny light seeped in from somewhere, so she could just see well enough to make out the weird carvings on the rock walls. They were scary. Creatures with cruel fangs and pointy wings and snakes—long, long snakes—were chiseled along the entire length of the walls. Lots of them.
She slowed her pace. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. If she listened hard, she could just hear him splashing away up front. Where was he going for goodness sake? She looked back at the entrance. She could barely make it out above the tiny rock ledge, where the spindly roots from the bushes poked through. Her shorts, top and scuffs were still there. Lucky she’d put her bathers on that morning. She’d hoped to swim somewhere that day. This summer was ‘Caribbean hot,’ according to her father.
She gasped as something touched her ankle. She stood still for a moment. It didn’t come back. A little fish? She nearly turned back, but at that moment, she heard voices. One was definitely Robert’s, but the other was a man’s voice, very deep and it echoed harshly off the walls. Somebody was not happy with Robert. The words were hard to make out because they were echoing so much, but after a moment, she learned how to distinguish the words. Robert was saying ‘sorry’ about something. The big voice was saying it was dangerous and that he shouldn’t have come down there.
She turned to go, frightened now that they would get into trouble. A terrible screeching pierced the air. She covered her ears with her hands, but even when the screeching stopped, she could still hear other sounds—little squeaks and giggles. She peered around her, but couldn’t see anything. The noises were all in front of her, around a bend in the rocks. She saw shadows up ahead as she moved gingerly forward, more out of concern for Robert than curiosity.
Reaching the place where the cave changed direction and bent to her left, she could hear more plainly now. The squeaking and strange chuckling filled her ears. A huge shadow suddenly moved opposite her, obliterating her view of the motifs and symbols that adorned a big flat wall. She cowered against a jagged outcrop of rock, her own breathing now loud in her ears. She crouched, her supporting left hand flat against the boulder that concealed her. The boulder moved. She flung her hand away from it, frantically wiping a glistening stickiness on her bathing costume, a glow remaining across her chest.
Backing away from the rock, she saw it now for what it was, a writhing mass of motley skin, uncoiling. Stepping backwards into the light, she saw Robert about thirty feet away. He was standing in the shadow of a huge, dark, two-legged creature, whose head was bent low towards his face. She gasped, stepped sideways, and fell into the water. Resurfacing, she looked up to see Robert and the creature turn towards her.
She saw that Robert was surrounded by small, long-tailed animals with thin stripes running down their backs, their huge eyes, shiny granite-black, and fixed on her. Some of them started a mad chattering, some jumped up and down, and others turned to the big creature as if waiting for instruction. Something strong wrenched her from the water and threw her hard on to the rocky embankment. She felt a tearing in her shoulder. The thick, slow-moving uncoiling thing slid slowly past, its thick skin rasping against the rocky floor as it noiselessly slipped into the water inches from her outstretched legs. She never saw its head, just the spiny, speckled ridge that traced the line of its long backbone.
Something stepped over her, a soft material brushing against her face and upper body. She looked back at Robert who stood transfixed by the new entrant. She knew the stranger was there to help her. She saw as he entered the light that he had long, white silky bird’s wings that hung down nearly to his knees. She knew instinctively what he was. The dark creature shrieked unbearably again and flung Robert somersaulting into the water with a sweep of its clawed hand. The feathered being ran hard at the dark thing, which backed away a pace, then drew itself to its full height. They clashed.
She saw the striped animals scatter, but some came straight for her. Robert was nowhere to be seen. She screamed for Robert, but he didn’t come up. She screamed again and tried to run, but the stickiness on her hands was now under her feet. She realized it must have come from the big slithering thing, which she could now see glowing on the bottom of the narrow waterway. She tried lifting her legs, but couldn’t. The striped animals arrived with their sickening giggles and she could do nothing. Robert’s name was being screamed from afar. The stripeys pawed at her and dragged her...